What Makes A General
by harrishawksuperiour
Summary: General Brendol Hux is renowned as one of the most calculating, evil and ruthless men in the galaxy. Commander of the dreaded Starkiller Base, it isn't difficult to see he's an exceptional officer with a bright future in the First Order. But what about his past? What made him such a vicious and cold individual?
1. Chapter 1 - In The Beginning

Alaria Velont was an exceptionally beautiful individual. Both physically and spiritually. She was small in stature, fragile, delicate. Pale with great green eyes and long, wavy blonde hair, she was captivating. Kind, sweet, gentle and timid by her very nature. Loving to a fault. The flowers and the animals fascinated her. Painting, drawing and walking in the sun were her favourite things to do.

The worst thing to do to a woman like that is to force her into a marriage. Especially a shallow, loveless one. Alaria was only twenty four when she gifted to Brendol Hux before the days of the Galactic Empire drew to a close. She soon became Alaria Hux after that. Her life was relatively changed and unchanged. She still had the freedom to do what she pleased but in a different home on a different planet, far from her family.

She did not have the luxury of waiting to fall in love. Her life was seemingly already planned out for her and love was not part of that plan. Before this marriage, love had always been part of her plan. Brendol Hux was Commandant of the Arkanis Academy, a training facility for Imperial Troops. His position was important but she didn't know exactly what it was. He rarely spoke to her, after all.

Brendol was an exceptionally tall man, towering at least a foot over his young wife. While his hair was flaming red, though starting to grey; his eyes were an icy blue - Something of a reflection of his personality and demeanour. She found him to be staunch, firm and quite unnerving. He also had nearly fifteen years of life experience on her. Brendol was far too involved with his work and his duty to pander to her and he had no qualms in informing her of that fact. It soon became clear to Alaria that the only interest he had in her was securing a legacy; a son.

He was due back soon after several months away at the Academy. Little was expected of her but being present and receptive when he came home was part of her duty as his wife. He had left for the Academy a mere few days after the wedding. The wedding night had not been fruitful nor any of the nights that followed before his departure. He had inquired for several weeks from the Academy, checking in with advisors in the villa to see if his wife was showing any signs of pregnancy but so far, nothing.

Dressed in a long, flowing gown as only the lady of the house would wear, Alaria waited a safe distance from the landing strip where her husband's ship had just touched down. The ramp dropped and that familiar foreboding figure started to descend. Her breath caught up in her chest, knowing what to expect that night. Was she attracted to him? Maybe. She didn't really know any better. As usual, his uniform, his hair and his posture were pristine or so she noticed as he approached her.

"Alaria." He greeted with little interest, taking up her hand and laying a half-hearted kiss to it, merely out of chivalry rather than affection.

"Beautiful as always."

"Thank you, Commandant." She answered submissively, slipping her hand back to her side when he released it. She never used his name and she suspected her preferred that. It made things less personal.

"You'll dine with me, won't you?" He inquired, gesturing for her to follow him towards the villa. This was part of the process, the ritual. She knew it well by now.

"Of course."

Brendol could admit his wife was beautiful. What he wouldn't admit was the luck he'd obviously been graced with to be paired with her in the first place. She'd been a gift, though he wasn't so crude as to call her that. _An arrangement_ was the term he preferred to use. Aside with the delay in pregnancy, she was perfect. Timid, meek, gentle and servile. She complained about nothing and did her duties well, for someone so young at least.

Her head was in the clouds somewhat but he was sure that a child would ground her. Seated across from her at a long dining table, conversation was very sparse. He drank wine, she did not. Alcohol would affect the chances of conception, or so she'd been told so it was better to abstain. They ate and drank mostly in silence. They didn't have much to say to each other. They led very different lives; his was rigorous and ordered while hers was dreamlike and lazy.

Their plates were taken away and again, they sat in silence. They both knew what was coming. He would instigate it. He always did and she would comply. When Brendol finished his wine, he got to his feet (surprisingly efficiently for the amount he'd consumed) and brought his wife to bed.

" **Commandant. Good news. Your wife has just been with a healer. They've just confirmed that she is in fact pregnant."** The transmission was sent to the Academy, he had requested to be kept updated and this was the news he'd been waiting for. It was finally falling into place. Alaria sat on her bed, not looking at anything in particular, stuck in a daydream and reeling from the news.

Not necessarily in a bad way but the reality of it hit her now. She had a baby growing inside her. A child was beginning to occupy her body. This little one would rely on her to grow and be healthy until it came for him or her to be born. Even when it was, she would be its mother. She would be the one it be dependent on most. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it (she hated calling it 'it') have blonde hair? Red hair? Black hair? Blue eyes? Green eyes?

Those little details excited her. The blonde walked the gardens, her hand never seeming to leave her swollen stomach nor would it for the next seven months or so, having learned she was approximately two months along. It made sense to her to take in the weather, the sun and the fresh air before the season changed. She would be confined inside long enough when the rain would prevail and her feet would be too sore; she would enjoy it while it lasted.

Labour was an experience. It was quite simply the most terrifying and strenuous thing she had ever endured. Pushing when she was told to push, Alaria sat up in her bed with her legs open. At random intervals, there would be a squeak of crippling effort as sweat poured from the fragile female in the depths of discomfort. Every second that went by was agony and it didn't seem to be alleviating any time soon.

Naturally, Brendol wasn't present. He was at the Academy, waiting for an update, knowing already that she was in labour. Panting and whimpering; Alaria fought tirelessly for hours, willing herself not to pass out. _It'll be over soon_. She told herself repeatedly _. It'll be over soon and it'll be worth it_. The female's whimpers developed into fully blown sobs and she heard the healer say something about the baby crowning. _I hope so…._ She had to fight harder.

The backbreaking seconds turned into minutes and after that, she lost track. The agony was so intense that she just crumbled over and over again, digging her own nails into her palms in a vain attempt to distract her from the burnings and strain below. It didn't work. Eventually, mercifully, she heard it. The squalling cry of a new-born. Alaria collapsed back into her pillows and watched, exhausted, as her baby was washed. It still cried but she was thankful for that. It meant it was alright. It was dried and bundled up then carefully laid into her shaking arms.

" _It's a boy."_ For a moment, she didn't know what to do but when she looked down into the bundle, it clicked. There he was. His cries had died away to soft little groans of curiosity and just then, they shared a moment, a moment when a bond was forged. She took him in as she broke down again but for a different reason this time; relief, joy and love.

His eyes were blue and inquisitive while a shock of dark chestnut hair decorated his head. It would change colour as he grew but his mother didn't know that. Nor did she care. He was perfect. She had found love after all.

" **Sir? It's a boy."**


	2. Chapter 2 - My Little Fox Cub

Anyone looking for the new-born Brendol Hux Jr would not find him in the nursery or in the cradle that had been carefully placed in Alaria's room for his first few days of life. It lay abandoned. Instead, the infant (who was neither big nor small for a child of his age) could be found cuddled up securely to his mother's chest. He was a contented child, didn't cry very often but when he did, he was quickly comforted by Alaria.

Everywhere she went, he did too. Her husband had appointed a number of extra staff, wet nurses and the like but she never used them; she preferred to do that herself. He was her's after all. She'd never felt anything like this before. This love, this devotion, this protectiveness. It all seemed so natural to her. Besides, would he have bonded with her so quickly if she wasn't the one to feed him and tend to him? She doubted it.

Brendol was nearly three months old by the time his father returned from the Academy to see his son for the first time. He had visited while she was still expecting mostly to ensure all was going well. He didn't touch her during that visit. There was no need to. He had what he needed. There was no special treatment as such but she knew better where her husband was concerned. Again, she waited by the landing strip but this time with their son in her arms.

He disembarked as usual and made the trek from the landing strip towards the entrance of the villa where she waited. He stopped a few feet away and surveyed her. Yes. This was what he'd wanted. This was what he'd intended for her. Alaria didn't question her husband stopping so far from her and just staring. She was too compliant for that.

"Perfect." Was all he said, sounding as sincere as he could as he closed the distance between him and his wife. A large gloved hand went to the small of her back to guide her inside.

As Brendol Jr grew, he was never far from his mother's side. He was five now and followed her everywhere. She'd brush her pale fingers affectionately through his thick red strands and tell him how dark it has been when he was born. She would stand at the window with her son in her arms before she set him down to bed and explained the stars to him.

"You're destined for great things, my love. You'll rule every planet in every system in the galaxy if you want to." She wanted him to have everything. To grow strong and self-assured. He would, but not how she imagined.

"Every one of those stars is a year that I'll love you." She told him tenderly, laying a sweet kiss to his cheek as he stared out, fascinated. "Even when you're big and strong and I'm no longer here, as long as there are stars in the sky, you'll know I love you." Every night she told him this.

"And there are billions of stars in the sky, my little fox cub." Her nickname for him. She'd given it for his hair colour but she also knew her son was exceptionally clever. Alaria sat at the side of his bed and waited for him to fall asleep, stroking his hair and listening to his exhausted ramblings. His mother would wake in the very early hours of the morning to movement beside her bed. She would pull her covers back and help the toddler in beside her. He would cuddle in close to her side with her arm tucked around him.

"Darling, you know your father is coming back today." It was uttered with sleep still in her system. Brendol's heart sank.

"Why, mummy?"

"I know, darling. He won't be here long, I promise. He's needed back at the Academy." Brendol's behaviour was always heavily monitored when his father was around. He was ever disapproving, telling him to stand up straight, stop whining and to let go of his mother's hand. Alaria didn't protest this scrutiny but both her husband and son knew she wanted to. He was a child after all; he would only be a child for a short time. What was wrong with him being close to his mother? Alaria nuzzled her son, worn out but still needing to be close to her little one.

"You know you won't be able to come in here until he's gone, darling, don't you?" Brendol sighed and returned his mother's affection.

"I know, mummy."

"Just do as he says my little fox cub. Now, will you sleep?"

"Yes, mummy."

Alaria stood supportively behind her son, both her hands on both his shoulders as he waited with dread for his father later on that day. His mother's cloak moved with the breeze and Brendol, being so slender and light almost moved with it too. The ship appeared and the little boy looked up at his mother. She offered him an encouraging smile but it was strained. Brendol's icy blue eyes (inherited from his father) watched almost fearfully as the tall, imposing figure approached him and his mother.

"Brendol." His father greeted him as he would greet a stranger passing in the street.

"Father." He did as his mother had said. Just do what he expects and everything will be fine. He stood up straight, kept his head up and addressed him as 'father'. Still the Commandant just brushed past him.

"Alaria." He greeted as usual with the routine kiss to her hand and she accepted it with a grimace. When his father's back had turned to enter the villa, Brendol rested his forehead against his mother's skirt and received a brief, comforting stroke to his hair; her other hand giving his a firm squeeze.

"I know, darling." It seemed her attitude had changed towards her husband since the birth of their son. She was still quite submissive but she couldn't abide by him expecting her to treat Brendol like a robot. Or worse, the man he hadn't yet grown to be. He was a child. Her child. He would scold her for coddling him, for being attached and for that sickening nickname among other things. No doubt, she would hear it again tonight.

But no matter how much she tried to argue (which she had never done before Brendol was born) that he was still young, he always restrained himself. He would never raise a hand to her. That kind of behaviour was for men who had no control, no discipline. Commandant Brendol Hux had plenty of both. Mercifully, he was gone within a few days and things could go back to normal.

When Brendol was seven, things started to change. He still spent the same time with his mother in his father's absence, still as attached to her as ever. Sometimes she would feel faint and would need to rest doing things she never had to rest during before. Like playing with Brendol. She would cough quite heavily and it would often take her a significant amount of time to regain herself. Though she did her utmost to hide the bloodstained handkerchief from her son. One day, he wasn't allowed to see her.

"She's feeling unwell." He was told. "You'll see her when she's better." He wasn't allowed to see her the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. After four days, Brendol was finally allowed to see his mother. He was led into her room, it was dark and stuffy.

Shepherded inside and the door closed behind him, his attention was drawn to the weak, coughing form in the bed. The little redhead's pace picked up until he got to the empty side of the bed and climbed onto , he buried his face in his mother's chest and cuddled her like he'd never cuddled her before.

"I missed you, mummy." He felt the familiar pressure of his mother's gentle hand on the back of his head as she started to stroke him.

"I missed you too, my little fox cub." Her voice was not her usual soft sigh but a fragile sort of rattle. His mother had always been pale but not like now. When he finally looked up, he was almost frightened by what he saw. Alaria's eyes were closed, her breathing was laboured and her beautiful face was gaunt. Still, Brendol cuddled her.

"Are you feeling better, mummy? They said I could see you when you were better."

"Much better since you came in, my love." They stayed there like that for what seemed like hours. He remained snuggled into her while she stroked his hair.

"Brendol?"

"Yes, mummy?"

"You know I love you, don't you, darling? More than anything in the world. In any world, in any galaxy."

"Yes, mummy. I love you too."

"I know, darling." Alaria couldn't open her eyes. If she did, her son would see her cry. "You should go. It's your bedtime. I'll see you tomorrow and remember the stars, my little fox cub."

As per usual, Brendol crept from his own room in the early hours of the morning and along to his mother's room. Her breathing was still light and forced but she was breathing nonetheless. Again, he scrambled up into her bed where he had been the night before he burrowed his way in under the blankets and settled down beside her.

He wiggled his way in under her arm and nuzzled into her securely. In safety, he drifted off again with the thoughts that everything would soon be back to normal. Brendol woke a few hours later with unease. His mother's arm was still draped around him but he was too young to comprehend that it was only warm from his own body heat.

"Mummy…." He sat up and edged his way up towards her ear. No answer.

"Mummy….." Nothing. He put his hand on her shoulder to shake her but found her cold. He shook her anyway as his little calls started to get more desperate and worried.

"Mummy please…." Brendol stared down at the woman he'd known his whole life, the only person who had ever made him feel loved. His bottom lip began to quake and his eyes started to water, barely comprehending.

" _Mummy please….! Please wake up….!"_ Frantic, he did his best to continue to call her, to try and rouse her but to no avail like no child should have to do. Griefsticken, the small redhead descended into desperate little pleas and clung to her, despite her coldness.

 _"MUMMY!"_

His begging sobs alerted her staff until he was removed forcefully and screaming from his mother's room. His words didn't sound like anything anymore, just incoherent whimpers of devastation as he reached back to her when he was carried away. Every step he was moved from his mother's corpse saw him fought harder and grow more frenzied to get back to her. Fists flailing and legs kicking, his howls only intensified in agony. It must have taken a callous human being to pry that lonely little boy from not only his mother but his only friend.

" **She's gone, sir."**

" **Burn her. Bring my son to the Academy."**


	3. Chapter 3 - Destined For Great Things

" **Your mother is dead, Brendol."** Brendol Hux Senior spoke clearly but coldly, as usual. **"As are her foolish fantasies, ideas and bedtime stories. She is no longer a distraction to you. She was nothing but a hindrance to you but that part of your life is over now."** Pity nor compassion didn't seem to be in this man's had made success for himself by being vicious and calculating and now he expected his son to do the same. After all, was that not the whole point behind Alaria in the first place? To beget a legitimate son to carry on the legacy he had striven to build? He had no interest in the girl.

She was a means to an end and now she was gone having fulfilled her duty. He had no desire to repeat the experience unless something happened to Brendol. Nor did he feel any need to say goodbye to his wife. He had been informed of her passing before he had left for the villa so he saw no point in putting himself out when Brendol could be brought to him. A screaming child wasn't high on his priority list.

" **You are to forget her, do you understand me? You will not grow if you do not."** His father glowered over his desk at the simpering seven year old that had been hauled before him. The child felt his bottom lip start to quake but he couldn't cry, not in front of his father. He just wanted his mother back. To lie in bed with her, feel her arms securely around him; hear those comforting, loving whispers and the strokes to his hair.

It didn't seem real. He struggled to put the pieces together but they refused to fit. Not even twelve hours after his mother's death and Brendol Junior still had trouble grasping what had happened and even where he was now. It was cruel. But still, young Brendol nodded understandingly though it was disheartened.

"Yes, father."

" **Yes, sir!"**

"Yes, sir…."

 **"You will be shadowing me from now on."** The Commandant continued as if speaking to a grown, willing recruit not a heartbroken child. His heartbroken child. **"Training drills, meetings, lectures; you will be present at them all. You will sit quietly, watch and listen. Am I clear?"**

"Yes, sir."

" **I'll make a man out of you yet, Brendol. With any luck the damage she's done can be reversed. You'll be destined for great things if I have anything to do with it."** At least he and his wife had agreed on that much. Hux Senior stood from behind the desk, his height imposing on the little boy but he did his best to hold himself fast, keeping his posture as much as he could as his mother had always told him.

" **Breakfast is at 06.00am. You will be outside my quarters by 06.30am and ready to begin tomorrow morning. I will send a droid to fetch you for the first few mornings."** He sat back down and returned to what he was doing, as if he hadn't just radically changed his young son's life. **"You are not permitted to speak to anyone, Brendol. Dismissed."**

Brendol was shown to his room by the promised droid. It wasn't very talkative or interested so he followed it half-heartedly. His room was bare, cold and metal rather than the warm brick of his room back at the villa. There were no pictures on the walls, none of the warm, colourful fabrics he was used to on his bed. The droid left him to his own devices without even a goodbye. Brendol had never felt so lonely as he climbed into bed and lay there alone. He just missed her so desperately.

He tried to imagine her arms around him, her nose buried into his hair, her breath tickling his ear as she fell back to sleep. He couldn't. There was not even a window where he could look out at the stars. He looked across at the shelf beside the door; there were no storybooks. Not as such. Instead, there were history books, seemingly biased towards the Galactic Empire. _The Clone Wars: An Empirical Tale of Heroism._ And _The New Republic: A Case Study of Weakness_ to name but a few.

The titles were a clue but Brendol didn't fully understand the concept of propaganda yet. He ignored the books for now. He had already descended into helpless little sobs, finally releasing what he had pent up in front of his father. His pillow was soaked almost through by the time morning came and the droid came to collect him.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months and eventually, the months into years, Brendol slowly started to fit in with life at the Academy. He became his father's shadow, watching and listening intently and the more he did so, the more this way of life started to make sense. When he returned to his quarters every evening after dinner, he started to pull out the books and familiarize himself with their content and their message, he probably would have struggled if it wasn't for the exceptional intelligence he'd been told he had from a young age.

His vocabulary grew as did his fascination with the Galactic Empire. The more he read, the more his disdain grew for the Republic and his obsession with the Empire grew. The Death Star, Darth Vader, The Clone Wars; he soon became an expert on it all. He was slowly starting to mould into what his father wanted.

He used to be a small, frail child but as the years wore on, he grew both in height and strength, in discipline and determination. He still spoke to no one. He used to get sympathetic glances as a child when he passed people in the corridor, usually from female staff but he ignored them or stared them down. It seemed they knew now not to interact with him.

He had forgotten all about his mother. Her name was never mentioned nor the fact that he had had a mother at one point. Even on his records, there was a blank space where her name should have been. He had not been allowed to keep anything of hers. Not that he thought about her. But it appeared that the short years she had spent devoted to and loving him unconditionally were in vain. He had become the same cold blooded creature his father was.

He did not remember her face, or her voice or her scent. Nothing. She was now this nameless and faceless entity that had birthed him. Nothing more. Nor did he press the issue. His father had told him once upon a time that she was a hindrance to him, a distraction and the more he became immersed in life at the Academy, the more he realized (or believed) that to be true.

His father's rule of not speaking to people had been enforced with the purpose of making Brendol callous, to teach him not to rely on other people and most importantly: the lives of a few were nothing compared to the greater good. This new hardened exterior would serve him well in years to come.

" **Do you think you're ready?"**

"Yes, sir."

" **It will not be easy."**

"I'm aware, sir. If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth it, sir." Brendol was fifteen now. Tall and broad, clean shaven with the same carefully styled red hair and icy eyes his father had. His uniform and his posture were of an exceptional standard and keep. He was like him in more than looks. He was driven and motivated, he obeyed orders quickly and efficiently without question. He was punctual and direct; everything a military man should be.

"I've been on the side-lines for too long, sir. I feel ready to contribute. It would be an honour to do so under you, sir." Brendol Senior surveyed his son with something akin to pride though he'd never admit it. He had fashioned his son the way he wanted, to become what he had always needed him to be.

" **Do you remember when you were brought here, Brendol? When you were seven?"**

"Yes, sir."

" **Do you remember what I said to you?"**

"Yes, sir. You said I was destined for great things."

" **That's correct, I did. It will not be easy nor are you to expect special treatment. You may keep your own quarters but that is the extent of it. Welcome to the Cadets."**

"Thank you, sir."

" _ **Today is the end of the Republic! The end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder! At this very moment, in a system far from here the New Republic LIES to the GALAXY while secretly supporting the treachery of the loathsome Resistance. This fierce machine which you have built, upon which we stand, will bring an end to the Senate! To their cherished fleet! All remaining systems will bow to the First Order! And will remember this… as the last day of the Republic!"**_

He stood atop his weapon. _His weapon._ All the striving, the determination and exertion had paid off. He was a General now. Thirty four years of age and a General of the First Order, the soon to be replacement of the Empire, the elite that would wipe out the Republic. He spat his hatred to an army of thousands of waiting Stormtroopers, throwing the bile at the servants that would bring about the new age of Imperialism.

And here he was at the forefront. Just like he'd dreamed when he grew in the confines of the Academy; just like he'd fantasized about when he read those books in his quarters. His father was proud; Brendol had succeeded and had even surpassed his father's expectations. But Alaria's beloved son was unrecognizable. The first shot was fired, it lit up the coldness in his eyes and he knew this was a whole new chapter. The very beginning of a new Galactic era. Or was it?

That first shot sent a chain of events in motion. Not necessarily favourable ones. True, the Republic was gone but in a matter of hours so was the Starkiller Base. He found himself trudging through the snow looking for his temperamental colleague and racing against time as the planet threatened to collapse. He had his orders and even in the face of death and destruction, he would follow them.

To find Kylo Ren and deliver him to Snoke was his priority. He found the fallen Jedi and dragged him back to the ship before the ground cracked and the ship was almost swallowed. With his dark haired counterpart delivered, Hux was excused. The pilot's console was quiet as he thought back over the happenings of the past twenty four hours or so. And for some inexplicable reason, he started to think about her.

 _"You're destined for great things, my love."_ It reverberated in his head with a voice that he didn't seem to recognize. What would she have said if she saw him on the Starkiller Base? Or at all in the last twenty seven years since she'd been gone? The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted, no….. _needed_ answers. It seemed the only intelligent choice for him now was Arkanis.


	4. Chapter 4 - Seeking Answers

((Second last chapter!))

It took a few hours to get to Arkanis. A few hours where the General (was he even still that anymore?) just sat and thought while the ship monitored itself on autopilot. He did his best to remember; to recall anything, anything at all. Not her face, her voice, her hair or her personality came to him. Just random phrases and he wasn't even sure if he was remembering them right but he kept trying.

How could he have done this? How could he have allowed himself to forget her? The only person who had ever made him feel like something other than a soldier. He put it down to his crippling need to please his father. He had been told to forget her and as much as it had broken his young heart, he had to do it. Still, with no reminders of her, he was bound to forget her eventually. Hux sat back and watched the stars beyond the windshield.

 _As long as there are stars in the sky, you'll know I love you._ He stared out forlorn as the words hit him for the umpteenth time since he first sat into the ship. She had _loved_ him. How could he have believed that she was a hindrance to him? That she had tried to prevent him from fulfilling his destiny? She had always encouraged him, told him he could do anything.

 _You're destined for great things, my love._ That too rang in his head. Maybe their definition of great were two different things. Slowly, things started to return to him though any of her actual features were still a mystery. Little details of their lives together; things they used to do with and say to each other were starting to come back. But also the unpleasantness of the day she died. Things he hadn't noticed (due to his age and innocence) started to poke at him and the realizations started to come together. Brendol was woken from his thoughts to a familiar beeping sound. It was the autopilot telling him he was approaching his destination.

The Academy at Arkanis was more modern than he remembered. Even the landing strip and the docking bay were up to date but he assumed that was to keep the new troops up on modernity. Everything painfully reminded him of Starkiller and Finalizer. Clean, clinical, grey metal. The uniforms, the staunch military marches. He had been given permission to land and while he was on the com, he sought permission to speak with Admiral Hux.

Of course he was an Admiral now. He had never stopped striving to be the best that he could be, despite his age. It seemed to have been a consistent trait in Brendol Junior who had made the rank of General before the tender age of thirty four. When he disembarked, there was an officer waiting for him to take him to the Admiral. No words were exchanged though he was sure said officer either recognized him or saw the similarities between him and the head of the Academy.

When Brendol was ushered into the familiar office, his father was immersed in something on the desk, paperwork it seemed. He didn't look up, he didn't acknowledge his son; he simply continued what he was doing until he was ready.

 **"You have some nerve coming here."** Came the cold, unfeeling brisk Brendol remembered only too well. It was times like this that pained him, realizing he had forgotten the wrong parent.

"Admiral, I…."

 **"I did not give you permission to speak, General."** Brendol felt like he was seven years old again, shrunken and wary except this time he could see over the desk and his father's height (though it did still exceed his own) was not as intimidating. When the Admiral did finally look up, Brendol was somewhat taken aback. He had forgotten how like his father he actually was. The same pale facial features, the same icy blue eyes and the same red hair though his father's was mostly grey by now. Unsurprising since the Admiral was in his seventies now. He had been forty when Brendol was born, after all.

 **"Billions upon billions of units wasted. Pumped into your precious weapon and look what happens! You turn up here, uninvited, unannounced in a First Order ship, an easily trackable ship. Do you have any IDEA of the damage you could cause just by being here?!"** Brendol was about to respond but found he didn't have a satisfactory answer. His father had gotten to his feet and was now pacing the office like a frustrated, caged animal. He stopped at the window which over looked the docking bay. It was almost as if watching the banal toing and froing of his precious Academy was soothing to him. He was significantly calmer when he spoke to Brendol again.

 **"I suppose you're looking for somewhere to lie low?"**

"No, sir." If the Admiral was surprised, he didn't let it show.

 **"Then why, General, is your failure of a carcass in my office?"** The insult probably would have stung a lot more if it had come from someone of better standing in his life. Those were few and far between. He once would have done anything to appease the Admiral but the more he thought, the more he remembered, the more he realized; he could barely stand to be in his presence.

"I have questions."

" **You have questions?"** The Admiral repeated with venom as if anything his son could ask would be a horrendous waste of his precious time.

"About my mother." The Admiral turned his head to look over at Brendol. The younger male was slightly sickened by the smirk that had attached itself to his father's lips.

 **"And what, pray tell, could you possibly want to know about that simpering waste of blood and guts?"** The urge to punch his father was strong but he knew he'd be quickly overpowered. Instead, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed slightly but it was enough for the Admiral to pick up on. **"Your mother was gifted to me like a dog, boy."** His father had since cleared the distance of the room and stood a few inches above his son, the smirk was gone and a snarl had taken over.

 **"She had a say in nothing, not even you. She carried you because she had no choice, she birthed you because she had no choice and she reared you because she had no choice! How's that, General? Is that enough for you or shall I continue?!"**

What the Admiral didn't tell him, simply because he didn't know or care; was Alaria's acceptance of her fate with the promise to make the best of it. He didn't tell Brendol about how she sent for a medic to examine every pain or twinge during her pregnancy, how her hand guarded her stomach twenty-four-seven from the moment she found out she was expecting to the moment she gave birth.

He didn't tell him how she fought through labour with the ultimate goal of meeting her child. He didn't tell him how she had broken down when he was laid into her arms and wept out of pure joy and love. Nor how his cot had been abandoned and he slept cuddled into her chest every night. He certainly didn't tell him about how she reassigned the wet nurses and insisted on feeding him herself, no matter how sore and tender her breasts were.

"You made me forget her." Brendol spoke up with his chest heaving subtly, ignoring protocol. "There was no need!"

 **"You wouldn't have climbed as quickly as you did if you had that pathetic creature in your ear, General! You know that as well as I do!"**

"I'm still a failure, according to you!"

 **"I warned her not to coddle you. I warned her not to baby you, not to get attached to you!"** The General looked the Admiral in the eye, icy blue to icy blue though his father's had faded slightly like his hair.

"Is that why you killed her?"

A tense silence followed the accusation and it was not broken how Brendol imagined it would be. The General's face paled a shade when he heard his father laugh. Cold, cruel, conniving. The Admiral turned away from his son, still chuckling quietly and running a hand through his once flaming hair.

 **"And tell me, General."** He began with menace in his voice that was already unsettling. **"Where would you be now if I hadn't?"** Brendol knew it. He hadn't wanted to accept it but there was the admission. His mother had died because she literally loved him too much. He more than likely wouldn't be a General but he wouldn't have the blood of millions if not billions of people on his hands either.

"She…."

 **"She served her purpose and outstayed her welcome."** The Admiral finished for him callously. **"You were a weak child. I needed to be certain you'd be strong enough. I might have needed her again. I was only given that assurance when you were seven. Then she needed to be removed."** Of all the things Brendol had done, he had never felt as ill as he did now. He remembered her coughing, the blood. He never saw anyone neither wearing masks nor taking care not to be too near her. That time he had been brought to her, the day before she died, no efforts had been made to protect the precious son of the then Commandant Hux. It wasn't contagious. It was internal, specific to her.

"You had her poisoned. Killed her over days and weeks didn't you?"

 **"You were always clever, General."** The praise was disgusting.

"They all knew…. All her staff... They all knew..."

 **"And none of them had enough backbone to do anything about it."** The Admiral drove home the brutal point with unnecessary savagery, casting his son a vicious glance. **"She was kind to them. She was sweet to them. She treated them as equals. But** **I** **paid them and look at how they turned on her!"**

It had been a mistake coming here. Brendol should have been content in his wonderings and never seeking confirmation from this fiend of a man who had quite clearly nothing but disdain for the woman who had been his wife. What could she possibly have done to earn such scorn? Brendol was too distraught to speak and like the night he had first arrived in this office, he bottled it to unleash later.

 **"Think about it, General."** His father drawled, almost taking pleasure in seeing his son in pain as he strolled casually around to his desk. A drawer was opened; a pen, a small piece of paper and a key were extracted. He wrote something on the paper and wrapped the key in it. **"What would she have said if she saw you now?"** The General's agony tainted eyes dragged to his father, feeling himself slowly descend lower and lower into hatred. The Admiral didn't wait for an answer.

 **"Would she still have held you and kissed you and called you by that foul nickname if she saw what you did with Starkiller? She'd be disappointed, General. Disappointment wouldn't cover it. She'd have disowned you. And it would have been your own doing."** It was difficult to know if his father spoke the truth. If his mother had indeed been a gentle, loving person; she would have been heartbroken to even think her beloved son would have part-taken in such a dreadful thing. Brendol Senior tossed the folded piece of paper with the key to his son who caught it with melancholic confusion.

 **"Those are the key and coordinates to the villa. Get out of my office and never darken my door again. We're done here."**


	5. Chapter 5 - No Place Like Home

((Last chapter!))

How Brendol contained himself on the way back to the ship, he didn't know. At least now there was no longer a hole of ignorance; a hole he only realized he had when Starkiller was destroyed. The key and the piece of paper were clutched tight in his hand and he would not be relinquishing them any time soon. These were his answers. Or at least they would be vital in gaining them.

The General sat back into the pilot's seat and stared at the piece of paper. He knew how to read coordinates; it had been one of the many things he'd excelled at in the Academy but these didn't seem real. He punched them into the computer and waited for the familiar beep to tell him the coordinates had been accepted. He got it. A rough estimate told him it would take him maybe six or seven hours. He didn't remember making the reverse journey the last time.

When he had been brought from the villa to the Academy the day his mother died. He was too young, too fragile, too heartbroken. He'd cried through it, much to the disdain of his escort. Autopilot was engaged again and almost as if his visit to his father hadn't happened, Brendol resumed his musings but with more matter now.

His mother had been a gift to his father. That sickened him. She had no choice in anything, not even him. If his mother had been gifted like a breeding mare, was the night that conceived him fully consensual on his mother's part? If his father killed her, he wouldn't have put anything else past him. He didn't want to think about it. Not for the sake of his father's honour but for the sake of his mother's memory.

If she was given no choice in him, how could he be sure she loved him? He knew she did but it niggled at him, especially the way his father spoke about her _. Simpering waste of blood and guts._ What if she _had_ seen him on Starkiller? What would she have said? Was his father right? Would she have disowned him? No. She never would have let him develop that venom in the first place.

Even if she couldn't stop it; if his father had won out, she would have pleaded with him, begged him to think about what he was doing. She would have clung to him and tried to make him reconsider what he was about to do. _I warned her not to coddle you. I warned her not to baby you, not to get attached to you!_ He was torn. His father had been right to a degree. If his mother had survived, he would not be who and what he was now. That much was certain. But if he had the right person in his life, someone to raise him rather than letting him be dragged up in the Academy; he might have chosen a different but similarly powerful path. He would probably never know.

The beeping of the autopilot made his head turn. _Approaching destination._ It told him, simply by the repetitive tone that reverberated off each surface of the pilot's console. With his attention firmly grabbed and his seat re-taken, he turned off the autopilot and focused on the descent and landing. The landing strip he had stood on and waited with dread for his father while his mother stood over his shoulder was wild and overgrown.

Weeds grew up through cracks in the permacrete, some were dead, and some were still living. The live ones flattened under his feet when he disembarked and the dead ones crunched. These would not be the first signs of desertion. Already, so many things were starting to bombard him. He remembered being dragged out here on that dreadful morning, screaming and struggling to get back to his mother. He remembered being hauled onto a ship on his father's order by an unnamed man, one of the advisors of the villa.

He remembered never liking him; he always felt he was sneaky, reporting everything back to the Academy. Brendol felt a weight in his stomach; nervous as if he was about to meet someone he had abandoned years ago. In a way, he was. The once brilliant white paint on the outside walls was now adorned with a dark, sprawling green ivy. It crawled up the walls and spread across, housing any manner and number of things.

Hesitantly, one foot moved in front of the other until he found himself at the door that, once opened, would unlock so many feelings and memories, be they good or bad. The key his father had given him was still held tightly in his hand; he hadn't let it go since it was given to him. _Now or never._ He told himself as the key was pushed in and the accompanying click made him close his eyes with a deep, shuddering breath.

There was little to no vegetation in the entrance hall but it had its own signs of dereliction. The light cast into it by the open door was the first it had seen in close to thirty years. The tiles on the floor had cracked under a coating of grime. The paint peeled from the walls and the ornaments stood under a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs decorated the corners of the ceiling and weaved eloquently in between the banisters of the marble staircase.

Parts of that too had cracked. There was utter silence only broken by his own footsteps as he slowly ventured in and took in his long forgotten surroundings. He remembered running through this hallway though he recalled always being told to stop or slow lest he hurt himself. Was it her? Had she told him that? Who else cared enough? There were only two rooms he was interested in seeing; his own and his mother's.

He avoided the cracks in the steps as he made his way up; careful in case there was a sudden collapse but it appeared to still hold firm even after all these years. A gloved hand caressed the banister as he climbed, gathering a significant amount of grit under his fingers, being pushed along to reveal a streak of the white marble in its wake.

To his surprise, his feet knew exactly where to go. Third room on the right just off the stairs. It was as if he was unsure if he wanted to go in there though he knew he did. It was almost as if he was afraid of what he would find but Brendol had to remember, this place (bar a few memories and ninety nine percent of them involved his father's visits) had been the setting of a happy childhood. A loved childhood.

As before, a long breath was taken before the door was pushed in. He didn't inhale as much dust as he thought he would. There it was. The bedroom he hadn't seen in twenty seven years, frozen in time as he had left it the morning his mother died. The carpet under his boots had worn and faded after being left untrodden on for such a long period of time. He looked around in awe at the pictures drawn by his own hand that he didn't remember stuck to the wall.

The shelves lined neatly with storybook after storybook (his mother went to great lengths to get them, actual printed versions rather than holopages), a toy chest lay at the foot of his bed but there were still toys on display on other shelves, on the sill of the large window and on a desk in the corner where he had drawn feverishly before and after she had taken ill. Brendol removed his gloves and tucked them into his pocket before reaching out a hand to touch the duvet and warm, colourful blankets he had yearned for at the Academy.

This room, everything in it and about it had made his first few months at the Academy very difficult. It was the kind of room he would have been happy for his own son to have. Even if his mother had been with him, the quarters he had been given had none of the comforts, none of the loving touches that this room had. It had been cold and sterile, no place for a young child.

Brendol looked to the light source; a large bay window with a seat built into the sill overlooking the gardens. Well, it was more like a jungle now. He moved from the bed and reached out to touch the glass, almost flinching at the cold that cut into his bare skin. _Even when you're big and strong and I'm no longer here, as long as there are stars in the sky, you'll know I love you._ Every night. He had heard this every night in this very spot, by this very window before she set him down to sleep. _And there are billions of stars in the sky, my little fox cub._ His mouth dried at the memory of the phrase.

If anyone had dared call him anything remotely similar, they would have been faced with the barrel of his blaster more quickly than they could realize but….. _My little fox cub._ The rush of love he felt when he heard it now was the same rush of love he felt every time she had used it then. Every time they had curled up in bed together, every time he cuddled in close when he was ill. It seemed he was remembering things long since buried without even realizing it. Maybe he hadn't forgotten after all. Still, he needed to remember _her._

He left his bedroom. To see all his old toys and drawings, to stand at that windowsill and to touch his blankets had been difficult. His mother's room was next and that was going to be several times more problematic. It was impossible to know what she might have kept that might have given him answers. Again, he knew exactly where to go. Sixth door on the right. He stopped at the entrance and braced himself. With his head resting against the door, he almost didn't go in.

He almost turned and walked away, never to know what he could have. But that would have been to admit defeat. Brendol Hux Junior didn't admit defeat. Not to the Republic, not to the Resistance, not to his father and certainly not out of fear of what he'd find beyond the door. With a hand on the handle, he paused to gather himself then pushed it down and in. Slowly and as if it had a mind of its own, the door swung in completely, stopping when it gently banged off the wall behind it.

This was overwhelming. This room would always hold the most beautiful memories but also the most tragic ones. Her room was in no better state than any of the rest of the house. Dust, cobwebs, cracks, grime; her quarters were not immune. Like when he first stepped into his own room; he took it in with disbelief. _He was home._

The bed where he had lay sleeping when his mother took her last breath was probably untouched since then. He approached it cautiously as if it were a human rather than a setting of blankets and pillows. To him, it was so much more. He sat down on it; the mattress had been softened over time. It sagged listlessly under his weight rather than the firm comfort he recalled, then again he had been a lot smaller and lighter back then.

He touched the blankets as he had touched his own. The familiar warmth was still there but her scent had long since evaporated. She had died here. In this very bed, on this side. He had crept from his room for years in the early hours of the morning and into this one where he was cuddled and held while he drifted back to sleep. He jumped up as though electrocuted. He couldn't deal with that.

The thought of it, reliving it; he couldn't do it. His feet carried him to the wardrobe. Inside, a selection of dresses hung; their colour fading and the material crumbling. He wouldn't touch them but to look at them, he could conclude that she had been a creature of small, delicate stature; certainly a lot shorter than he was now.

A closet door caught his eye; one he had never noticed as a child. It drew him, he couldn't ignore it. Box upon box sat inside. The goldmine he had been hoping for. These were not ordinary, generic brown, cardboard boxes. They were like hat boxes; round with different designs and colours. Attractive and playful. Spoiled for choice, the male sat on the floor and pulled one of the closest boxes to him but stopped when his father's cruel words rang in his mind.

 _She had a say in nothing, not even you. She carried you because she had no choice, she birthed you because she had no choice and she reared you because she had no choice!_ He hesitated over a box with the letters _A.V.H_ printed in pink which stood out on the white lid. What did that mean? It stung him when he realized those were her initials but he only knew what one of them meant, he had only ever known her as _mummy_. The H obviously referred to Hux. Her name had to be in here somewhere.

Nothing could prepare him though for the first thing that he would pull out of the box. With his father's words fresh in his mind, Brendol's breath caught in his throat when he picked up a small, thin bundle of flat-holos all wrapped up together in a white ribbon. With pale, trembling hands, he untied it. In the top right corner above the black and white, he found the first thing he was looking for. _Alaria Hux._

 _Alaria. Her name was Alaria._ Her birth date was also on it. She was barely twenty six when she had looked closely; he'd never seen an ultrasound before. X-rays, yes but never an ultrasound. There he was. That tiny little peanut like blip was him. He turned it over and every ounce of doubt his father had ever instilled about her was gone. His free hand lay against his cheek, urging himself towards composure as he looked down at the gold, curly handwriting on the back of holo.

 _9 weeks._ Beside it, was a small love heart of the same colour. He went through the bundle. They were all the same but he seemed to grow with each one and the number of weeks on the back seemed to increase. In the last one; he was fully formed, more like a baby than a peanut. One the back it stated: _38 weeks. Almost there!_ The same heart was there in consistency with the rest of the holos.

The MD-0 Medical Droid that her husband sent periodically from the Academy had provided her with those precious prints. She had been apprehensive about radiation but the droid had assured her there was nothing to worry about. So many nights she had sat up and stared at it lovingly with her free hand guarding her growing belly as always. She would do this every night until it was time to get the next one. He willed himself not to cry but it clawed at him and the urge to punch his father rose again.

 _In time._ He promised himself. The rest of the boxes contained drawings he had done of various things, pieces of jewellery, letters from her family... Extended family hadn't occurred to him. On one of these letters, the name _Velont_ was mentioned a lot. He realized it was his grandmother writing most of the time in worry for her (seemingly) only daughter. _Velont._ That was her maiden name.

He decided he was going to take these things with him. These boxes that no one had wanted in twenty seven years, why would they want them now? The last thing he found in the box was a small cartridge; the type one would insert into a droid. He had nothing to play it on. It would have to wait until he got back to the ship. With the boxes gathered, he bade goodbye to the room. This would not be his last visit. At least, he hoped it wouldn't be.

With the boxes safely secured and stowed away, he sat at the small desk in the sleeping quarters, having located the portable hologram platform. He palmed his pockets for the cartridge, found it then placed it into the appropriate compartment. He didn't dare think it would be anything special or important. He was wrong. So wrong. When the image appeared, Brendol's face dropped and a hand knotted into his usually pristine red hair. The recording was of mediocre quality, the colour was a little off, not unlike the one Princess Leia had sent to Obi Wan Kenobi thirty years previously.

The hologram took the form of a woman. Quite a young woman. She was sitting on a cushion on the ground with her back resting against the wall. The colour may have been distorted but it was plain to see her hair was blonde; long and curly. Her face was hidden in a book, she evidently preferred physically turning pages, no matter how much more expensive it turned out to be.

He stared. How could he not? And this was only the beginning. A noise behind the recorder made her look up and towards him. And she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A hand covered his mouth as he watched in astonishment. That was her. That was his mother. For the first time in twenty seven years, he saw her.

 _"What are you doing?"_ It was sweet, gentle, and playful; like a cool breeze on a hot day. Her accent was not unlike his own but naturally, it was softer. He hadn't expected her to speak. Now that she had, he felt himself unravelling. _"Come here."_ From beyond the frame; behind the recorder, a small boy ran towards her. The colour in the projection may have been off but the darker tone to his hair was enough for him to know who that boy was.

In the time it took for him to run to her, she had closed her book without care to mark the page and set it aside. How could he have believed that she wanted to hinder him? That she had him because she _had_ to? He watched with a heavy heart as the small boy clambered into her lap where he was immediately enveloped into her waiting arms. He relaxed into her chest and wrapped his arms securely around his neck; they didn't move from that position for a while. When it was broken, it was by her placing a light kiss to her son's cheek.

Tears had begun to trickle though he didn't notice. They leaked down onto his hand and cascaded past it onto the floor. Everything pent up from his father's office and since had just come loose and he knew it was pointless to stop it. A harsh breath was drawn and choked out again as she nuzzled the toddler with such affection and closeness, tears flowing freely now. He wanted this back so badly, it killed him. To be held like that little boy was being held on the hologram, to be told that it was alright, that he was going to be forgiven.

 _"I love you so much. You know that, darling, don't you?"_

 _"I know, mummy."_ Brendol cracked a weak, watery smile at his former self; he'd forgotten how adorable he'd been but he'd also forgotten how precious and cherished he'd been.

 _"And no matter what happens, I'll always love you. More than anything on any planet in any galaxy. You know that, don't you, my little fox cub?"_

 _"I know, mummy."_ They stayed wordlessly cuddled together for a while until Alaria got to her feet and brought her only child with her. He had fallen asleep on his mother's chest as he always had.

When the projection died away, Brendol stared at nothing. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing was shallow and his cheeks were stained. His chest moved with discomfort and the priceless recording was stowed away in the pocket of his greatcoat. It would never leave his person. Never. Not as long as he was a free man. His hands covered his face again and a fresh wave of heavy sobs took over. This time, they were born of relief joined by a little stab of grief.

Brendol decided there and then that he would not leave. If it meant sleeping and living in the ship, he would do so but he would not be leaving here again until he was summoned. If he was summoned. He had gotten what he came for and more. He had come looking for answers, looking for confirmation that his mother did indeed love him. The ultrasounds had been confirmation enough but the hologram…..

 _And no matter what happens, I'll always love you. More than anything on any planet in any galaxy. You know that, don't you, my little fox cub?_

He did now. No doubts. Ever again. Despite what happened.


End file.
